


ice in your veins

by mokuyoubi



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bloodplay, Bondage, Collaboration, Creampie, Established Relationship, F/M, Feral Behavior, Gangbang, Ice Vampires, M/M, Multi, Temperature Play, Vampire Sex, Will just really messy with other people's cum up his ass, Worldbuilding, m/m/f, so many of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 01:10:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8036398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: Hannibal's tribe has survived for centuries on the blood of the Tracer-kind--a line of humans with blood strong enough to sustain them. The line died out decades ago, or so it seemed until Will Graham arrived in their territory. There's a ceremony by which the blood gains even greater potency, but it entails some rather...unorthodox methods.
Basically, Will gets gangbanged by a bunch of feral vampires, with some world building. Written for my dear TheSeaVoices as a collaboration for their entry to the bloody Will Graham calendar!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is some amazing art to accompany this, and I can't wait to share it with you all when the calendar is released! This will be finished shortly, just trying to get it posted for a deadline, which is why it was split into two chapters.

The other vampires are feral, Hannibal said, creatures of pure instinct. It’s difficult to believe when Hannibal himself is so refined. How he sits across from Will and pretends to sip his tea, a habit no doubt developed over centuries to put his human companions at ease, soft-spoken and eloquent. His paste skillfully applied to hide the skin like crystal beneath so that even under the most intense scrutiny, Will can’t tell him apart from any human.

Even when Hannibal splays his hand over the curve of Will’s neck, his touch is careful, tipping back Will’s chin. His lips are icy cold, but oh so delicate and when his fangs pierce Will’s skin, when his cock drives into Will’s body, there’s nothing but pleasure. Will can feel the trembling restraint in Hannibal’s muscles with every thrust, the tension in Hannibal’s spine when Will's nails scrape across the nape of his neck as he drinks.

There is layer upon contradictory layer of beneath Hannibal’s icy exterior, Will’s only began to melt them away. Still, he can’t imagine what it would be like, for Hannibal to lose his cool, so to speak. Nor can he imagine how any of the vampires in his clan could be so markedly different.

Then again, Will has caught glimpses of them from time to time since first visiting their territory. He still remembers that first occasion, not even a month in Finnmark, and exploring with Mirabelle in that perpetual twilight. She’d caught sight of a fox and it was all he could do to keep up with her, lungs burning from the icy air. The fox seemed to float along atop the snow, and disappeared over a snowdrift. Will had followed and come to a dead stop at the sight.

Snow gave way to a rolling dune of thick grass, sprinkled in yellow, blue, and purple wildflowers and the white-tufted cottonsedge. He’d read about the arctic fox dens where local flora flourished, but not in the middle of winter, when the temperature plummeted to the negative 40s and there was barely enough daylight to make a trip into town and back, let alone sustain plantlife. Yet here there were dozens of the dunes, as far as the eye could see, dotting the snowy hills.

Walking among them, there was a sense of otherworldliness, a queer stillness that fell over him like a blanket, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He had the sensation of being watched, only there was no one in sight. Will picked carefully through the grass after Mirabelle, trying not to disturb the clusters of wildflowers.

That was when Will began to notice them. In between the downy birch and scattered spruce trees, the empty air seemed to move with a life of its own. It took some time before Will’s eyes adjusted to what he was seeing--the spidery, fragmented tendrils of red and blue feathering through the air and clustering together in vaguely familiar shapes. 

When he stepped closer to one to get a better look, an icy gust of wind stirred his hair, carrying a rumbling growl. And then he’d realised what he was seeing, the intricate network of veins and arteries that wove throughout a human pair of lungs. Startled, he’d glanced upward to find himself looking directly into red eyes and he’d fallen over his own feet backing away. 

It was impossible not to see them, after. Dozens of them, their forms defined by the negative space between delicate threads of artery and vein, and their red eyes, watching him unblinking.

Even now that he knows what it was he’d seen, even after Hannibal had assured him they meant him no harm, Will is still unsettled when he arrives home after fishing and can see their movement from the corner of his eye. Or when he looks out his window into the gloomy dark of the morning and sees the red dots watching him back. Or walking Mirabelle and sensing more than hearing their movement around him--the displacement of the air, the soft swishing of flesh and snow, their arrival always heralded by the foxes.

“I’m afraid they’ve gone too long without proper nourishment,” Hannibal had explained. “They will follow my orders, but that is the only thing that keeps them from draining you dry.”

The shudder that passed through Will at his words had not entirely been inspired by fear, and Hannibal had known it. He’d been testing Will, after all, and Will had passed every step of the way, which is how they found themselves here.

During the winter months, Hannibal holds court in a glittering palace of ice which stands both beautiful and forbidding on the edge of the rolling fox dunes, almost out of place among the wild grass and flowers. More intricately carved than any ice hotel or sculpture Will has ever seen, the palace has a gothic facade, towering turrets, and the lancet windows are shaved paper thin and painted in vibrant colours that have much the same effect as stained glass.

Temperature, Hannibal said, doesn’t have any real impact on their overall survival, but during the summer months they go into a sort of hibernation. And so while it is appreciably warmer inside the palace than without, it is still far colder than Will would prefer. He remains bundled in his coat, hat, gloves, and two layers of socks in his boots as Hannibal leads him through the entrance hall with their soaring ceilings.

The walls are decorated in masterpieces gone missing for centuries, and music drifts gently through the halls. Will can’t begin to guess at the source as all other sound is muffled by the press of snow and ice on all sides. Tables, chairs, every surface made of carved ice in the style befitting the architecture. He catches glimpses of white fur here and there, the foxes darting around uninhibited through the palace

Hannibal leads Will by hand up the curving grand staircase to his chambers, and at last the low-grade shivers cease. There is a fire roaring in the middle of the room, hovering a foot or so above a large basin. Here the ice is dressed up with fabric--the slab of a bed covered in layers of furs, gold, glass, and wooden accents to the wing-backed chair and nightstands and dresser.

Will’s hand slips free of Hannibal’s as he approaches the fire, reaching out to feel the heat that radiates from it. Beneath it, the basin is untouched, the ice solid and cold, not even the faintest sheen of melted water. “Does the heat bother you?”

“I have a regular supply of your blood to sustain me,” Hannibal says. “And the centuries have made me strong.”

It still throws Will for a loop to hear Hannibal say it so casually, all that distance between them. Will, so used to understanding far too much about everyone he meets, is left grasping for the most basic comprehension of what Hannibal has experienced. 

He finds it utterly thrilling. It quickens in him, makes his heart pound faster, blood pumping and warming through his limbs, which in turn never fails to excite Hannibal. As surely as Hannibal feeds from him, Will feeds from Hannibal. He’s never felt so alive.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” Hannibal asks, regarding him through the flicker of the flames. 

Will begins on the buttons of his jacket; he’s already growing uncomfortably warm in all his layers with the heat of the fire. There are other ways. Other rituals that, though they must be repeated more frequently, require less of him. Hannibal explained it all before.

But Hannibal knows him very well, even after so brief a time. He knows how Will gets when Hannibal feeds on him--not the little sipping love bites he gives during their regular liaisons, but those rare times when Hannibal uses him for sustenance. The throbbing in his cock and the ache deep inside him that will not be sated. How Will writhes on the sheets, begging for release, to be fucked harder and longer. 

When he gets like that, out of his mind with lust, Hannibal does his best to give him what he needs. This...this might just finally scratch that itch.

Will nods jerkily, not trusting himself to say the words out loud. He’d be lying if he said he isn’t a little nervous, but the fear just adds to the excitement, notching up his arousal that much higher. Hannibal must smell it on him already. 

“Very well,” Hannibal says. He goes to a cabinet by one arched window and opens the door to reveal a series of glass bottles. The liquid he pours into one frosted ice glass is a rich, glowing amber reminiscent of whiskey. He brings it to Will, letting his fingers draw against Will’s as the glass passes between their hands. Such a simple touch sends a tremour up his arm and down his spine. He can’t say which is colder: Hannibal’s skin, or the ice of the glass.

“What is it?” Will asks, sniffing cautiously. It _smells_ like whiskey--the really good stuff, too, like that bottle he splurged on after he’d washed out of the NOPD. The taste isn’t all that different, though more medicinal, and it warms him down to his toes, a heat that radiates from his core. Will throws it all back on the second mouthful.

“Just the first step in tonight’s ritual.” 

Hannibal tosses the glass into the fire, where it begins to melt at once, sending up bright white sparks. He shrugs elegantly from the fur cape draped over his shoulders, left only in his long skirt fastened high on his waist, and beneath his wrapped trousers and boots. It’s a stark, almost jarring difference from the tailored suits he wears when walking out among the humans.

Will can’t help but stare, unused to seeing Hannibal without his makeup. His skin more opaque from his frequent feedings than the skin of the others, the planes of his muscles like the faceted cut of a gemstone, beneath which runs branching lines of cobalt and ruby. Will reaches out a hand, unthinking, to trace the shape of Hannibal’s heart, hanging as if suspended by dainty threads within a case of crystal. His nipples are ringed in dark blue and pale pink in the centre, reminding Will that for all that it looks like glass, Hannibal’s body is still flesh and blood.

Hannibal allows the exploration, chest firm and motionless as a statue beneath Will’s touch. After a long moment, his heart gives one fluttering beat before settling still again. That is _his_ blood, circulating through Hannibal’s body. At the thought, an animal possessiveness sweeps through him. Pleasure, at knowing he’s the only one who can give them what they need to truly survive. He slides his hand up Hannibal's scalp, into the misty halo of his hair, and guides him downward.

They meet halfway, Hannibal’s fangs snagging against his lip. There’s the faint sting of scraped skin, but not enough to draw blood. Will moans and flicks his tongue against one frozen tip for the now familiar sensation, raw along his nerve endings, tender and just on the wrong side of pain, yet altogether irresistible. 

In the firelight, Hannibal’s eyes come alive, and his gaze roves over Will hungrily when they part. The normal restraint is there when he bends to nibble delicately at the column of Will’s throat, but there’s something bubbling just under the surface that makes Will’s cock pulse in anticipation. Hannibal half-walks, half-carries him backwards to the bed.

“You tempt me,” Hannibal says. The low timbre of his voice washes over Will like a caress, eliciting shivers that have nothing to do with the cold. In fact, the warmth of the drink continues to radiate throughout him, driving away any hint of a chill. He’s aware that Hannibal’s touch is cold, but it doesn’t affect him. More of Hannibal’s magic, so casually dispensed, yet without explanation.

“That’s the point,” Will pants, tugging at the waistband of Hannibal’s skirt. Beneath he can see the growing outline of Hannibal’s cock.

Hannibal catches his wandering hands. “Perhaps once the ritual is finished. For now…” He releases his hold on Will to begin working free the buttons of his shirt. “I must prepare you. We mustn’t keep the others waiting.”

That promise burns hotter than the whiskey. Will’s guts clench with anxious desire. Hannibal has been as vague as he possibly can be, about what the ritual will entail or any sort of necessary preparation. The underlying, unspoken request for Will’s trust, the implication that Hannibal knows him so well that he won’t cross any boundaries Will doesn’t want crossed.

Hannibal strips him with the same care he shows in all things, each piece of clothing peeled away and folded before he sets them aside, almost clinical in his focus, until Will stands naked before him. As often as they’ve done this, as comfortable as Will has grown in Hannibal’s presence, he feels overexposed. Like there’s a forest full of strange eyes watching.

“Lie down,” Hannibal instructs. “On your stomach.”

Will expects the bed to be uncomfortably hard as he climbs on, hands and knees, but the padding provided by the white and grey furs is thick, plush, and silky smooth. He splays, legs spread, arms at his side, cheek turned to rest against the fur. It smells musky, crisp, and vaguely floral.

There’s a bedside table on which stands a butt plug, next to a vase of fresh wildflowers from the dunes. The toy is clear, either glass or ice, not nearly as long as Hannibal’s cock, but the narrow tip widens significantly into a bulbous bulge that is a bit intimidating, before tapering down at the waist. 

Distracted as he is by the sight of it, Will is taken off-guard when Hannibal spreads his cheeks wide, leaving Will's hole exposed. His initial reaction is to jump, as it always is when Hannibal touches him there, nose nuzzling down the crack. It used to freak him but, but after he past that, he learned to relax. 

Now his body clenches in expectation of Hannibal's tongue, flicking over his hole. He's still not used to the sensation, though, pleasure with just a hint of discomfort that makes him squirm when Hannibal traces his tongue around the tight ring of muscles. Just lapping gently, tickling over sensitive skin, until the tension held in Will’s back and shoulders begins to release, and then pushing within.

Will almost squeals at that, hands clenching in the fur, eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, that's...” he lets out a shuddering breath.

The warming effect of the whiskey tempers the cold, which normally distracts from the finer sensations. Now Will can feel each shift of Hannibal's tongue dragging back and forth, spiking pleasure through his groin. Hannibal telegraphs his movements with a light touch of his hand against Will's thigh before the fingers of his other hand press into him, lube slick.

Hannibal is always careful with him, but tonight shows special care in preparing Will. First with two fingers working him open with shallow thrusts until Will begins to rock his hips in frustration, his hard dick rubbing through soft fur. Hannibal huffs an amused sound, but doesn't tease him further. Adding a third finger, he sinks in deep, all the way to the join of his fingers and Will groans his appreciation.

At the base of his spine, Hannibal dusts nibbling kisses, and Will keeps waiting for the familiar sting of his bite, with each lush parting of lips on skin, but it never comes. Saving every last drop of him for the ritual. 

“I must admit,” Hannibal says, shifting to reach across Will to the bedside stand for the plug. “When you first made your choice to submit to this ritual, I was hesitant to allow it.”

Will glances at him over his shoulder, arching a brow in question. “You thought I couldn’t take it?”

Hannibal smiles ruefully. He leans in with pursed lips to brush a kiss over Will’s mouth. As cold as the rest of him is, Hannibal’s eyes burn hot with lust. “I didn’t want to share you.”

Will rolls beneath him to lie on his back, and reaches up to twine his arms around Hannibal’s neck. “Just for tonight,” he murmurs. He pulls Hannibal down for a longer kiss and gets lost in it for a moment. Hannibal’s generous mouth, sliding slick against his, tongues rolling together unhurriedly, his body dipping low to press Will gently into the furs in tantalising tease. The more aroused he grows, the hotter and tighter his skin fits, so that Hannibal’s cold skin feels delicious against him.

Then the tip of the plug nudges between his thighs, and Will lets out a muffled gasp. Hannibal begins to push, slowly but surely spearing him open. There’s a chill to it, but nothing uncomfortable, and so thick that Will can’t help but moan, long and low as he’s stretched wide. Hannibal swallows the sounds, licks possessively into Will’s mouth with a faint growl. With one final moment of resistance and another gasp from Will, it slips the rest the way into place. 

Will wants to promise the other vampires won’t have him in the same way. They might use him for their pleasure, but the connection will never be anything more than physical. They’ll never know him inside and out the way Hannibal does, or inspire the sort of powerful emotions he’s spent a lifetime repressing. 

It all sounds trite in his head, though, and so he remains silent and does his best to keep up with Hannibal’s kisses, overwhelmed by all the physical sensations. He’s never been stretched by anything so big as the plug, and at the widest point it pushes firmly against his prostate. Every slight shift sends electric shudders through his nerve endings. Given enough time he could probably cum just like this, between Hannibal’s clever mouth and the brush of skin on skin.

“Now I think we’ve left the others waiting long enough,” Hannibal murmurs. He climbs gracefully from the bed and goes to his wardrobe.

Will rises as well. Moving slowly and carefully, he still has to stop several times to breathe deeply at the pulses of pleasure from the plug rubbing inside him. His cock is painfully hard, precum forming droplets at the tip. Will resists the urge to touch just yet.

Hannibal produces a pile of leather scraps that, as he begins to sort through them, resolve themselves into a series of harnesses. The simplest of them go around Will’s wrists and ankles and forearms, thin simple bracelet-like strips with ornamental etchings. The largest fits high around his waist and ribs, and over one shoulder. Hannibal applies the same attentiveness to fastening them in place as to preparing him. 

Once he’s finished, he gives a firm tug on one of the bronze rings hanging from the leather across Will’s chest and lets out an unnecessary breath, harsh through his nose. His fingertip strokes along the line the leather cuts along Will’s skin. He flicks a sharp nail over Will’s nipple, pinches and twists once, enough to draw a gasp from Will. 

“Lovely,” he says, almost absently, and his eyes drift upward to fix on Will’s neck. 

It’s habit by now, the way Will arches his back, tips back his head, and turns his chin to the side. Not so much submission as mutual desire for the same act. He catches sight of himself in the shiny, reflective surface of the ice wall and almost can’t believe his eyes. The bright red flush of his skin and his hair, damp and curlier for it, the dark leather standing out starkly against his winter-pale complexion.

Hannibal crowds close, arm looping around his waist and crushing them together. He tucks his face into the exposed curve of Will’s neck and breathes in deeply. “Only when the ritual is complete.”

Will doesn’t have an opportunity to feel disappointment. Hannibal drapes him in a heavy fur and leads him back down the stairs, and Will is too distracted by the shift of the toy inside him to focus on much else. Hannibal takes him through a set of heavily carved doors into a glittering courtyard.

Where the dunes leading up to the entrance of the palace looked like spring in full bloom, the courtyard is blanketed in snow. A stone path leads into the densely packed forest, the trees bare but for the fresh layer of snowfall that still drifts down around them--thick, fluffy clusters that catch in Will’s lashes, blinding him as they melt.

There is another stone basin in the clearing at the edge of the forest, the legs climbed over in mossy growth. Tethers hang suspended from the branches of the trees towering overhead, from the legs and the lip of the basin. A sort of sick arousal thrills through him, dipping low in his stomach as he begins to form a mental image of how he’ll be displayed. That is followed quickly by the unease at the size of the basin which will gather his blood. It looks far too large for Will to survive giving that much, though he knows Hannibal would never allow harm come to him.

A dozen or so foxes peer at Will from between the trees, watching his progress, but Will doesn’t see the other vampires at all, until, quite suddenly, he does. Melting out of thin air, pacing alongside them like wild animals waiting to strike. 

They are nothing like Hannibal who, even out of his make-up and fancy clothing retains an air of sophistication. Their simple skirts and tunics are almost comically ill-suited to them. Ice has formed in spikes like armour on their shoulders, scalps, and down their spines, appearing as an extension of their skin, but none among them possess the same crystal clarity of Hannibal. In comparison, their veins are dull and muddied.

Behind the basin stand three vampires in a semi-circle, watching their approach. Two of them are perfectly matched, tall and slender with sharp features and hair like a waterfall frozen mid-stream down their backs. The woman is bare chested, dressed in the same skirts as her male counterparts. Her breasts are full and round, and Will has trouble tearing his eyes away from how her heart looks suspended between them, like some elaborate necklace. The third smaller man, with muscles packed on under a layer of fat and a series tattooes that seem to glow with a golden-blue light over most of his skin, obscuring the veins.

All three drop down to one knee when Hannibal comes to a halt, their heads bowed in deference. “Rise,” Hannibal says, and they move with the same graceful movements Will is used to seeing from him. 

Hannibal takes his hand and guides him to stand before the three. Then he turns Will in a wide circle, showing him off to the vampires still lurking on the fringes of the clearing. “I present to you, Will Graham, the newest and last of the Tracer-kind. He comes to us willingly and gives of himself freely, so we may again thrive.”

Decades, Hannibal said, since their last Tracer left them, choosing to die as a human rather than join their ranks. She’d been content with her life, and assumed her line would carry on through her son or daughter, but circumstance and tragedy had deprived the tribe of their only source of food.

It is rare for a Tracer to accept the gift of immortality at the end of their time of service. So rare, in fact, that only three Tracer-kind vampires remain in the tribe, after centuries of the practice. They now step forward, drawing the cape from Will’s shoulders. Their hands ghosting over Will’s skin as they lead him to the ground and lay him out over the fur.

The little shifts of skin on skin are almost too much, along with the plug filling him up. He’d thought he’d be more self-conscious, naked and helplessly turned-on with all these eyes on him, but the shorter, heavier man unwraps his skirt and kneels naked between his thighs and Will can’t really focus on anything else. The man nudges his thighs open and sinks down between them, his cheek soft against Will’s cock when leans in to mouth at the flesh of Will’s inner thigh.

There are bite marks all over his skin, in various stages of healing, and the vampire is scenting a fresh one left by Hannibal only last night. His tongue flashes out to taste the shape of it, but after a faint growl from Hannibal, he moves upwards. Lips skimming Will’s belly and over the leather while his thick fingers wrap loosely around Will’s cock and give an idle pull, before reaching lower. He traces the flange of the plug and Will arches expectantly into the touch. They all know what comes next, and he’s had enough of the foreplay.

With a twist of his wrist, the man pulls the plug loose, inch by agonising inch. Will’s eyes clamp shut and he bites his lip against the whine that wants to escape as his hole is stretched all over again around the widest part. He’s sweating by the time it pops free, and drops back to the fur in relief. The snow lays cold kisses on his exposed skin like a balm.

Then, with no more preamble or ceremony, the man guides himself forward to press his thick, straining cock against Will’s hole. His fangs set against the line of Will’s sternum, right above his heart, and all at once he bites down and surges forward, impaling Will on his fangs and his cock. There’s enough force in it to drive Will a few inches up the fur, and there’s none of Hannibal’s finesse to take from the sting of the bite. 

Will grits his teeth and shifts in an attempt to grow accustomed to the invasion, but the man wraps his arms tightly around Will’s hips and takes a long, thick mouthful of blood before thrusting again, holding Will in place this time. He sinks in deep, all the way to the hilt with a grunt.

Will’s eyes roll back in his head at the combination of the two, all thoughts of discomfort gone at the sensation of his blood being drawn from his veins. It is the singularly most pleasurable thing he’s ever felt, like a fire catching at the point of origin and spreading through his entire body through the network of veins and arteries. The drag of the man’s cock over his prostate is more of an afterthought in comparison.

Hannibal has explained that it’s something in the blood of the Tracer-kind--the same thing that sustains the vampires for such great lengths of time--that responds to their saliva, to encourage their cooperation. At the time it gave Will a new appreciation of Hannibal’s long seduction, the effort he put into wooing Will when all he’d needed to do, apparently, was bite him. But he doesn’t care about the reasoning behind it any longer, only how it feels.

Waves of alternately hot and cold rippling through him, that delicious moment before orgasm but suspended, drawn out indefinitely until it becomes maddening. The vampire fucks him hard and it’s almost a shock, his only previous experience with Hannibal and his infinite care, but it matches the intensity of the bite.

And then there are other hands on him. Sharp-tipped nails skating up his ribs, rough hands in his hair, jerking his head to the side to trace the shape of his jaw. The man releases his bite on Will’s chest, and Will blinks his eyes open, ready to protest, only to see the woman straddling him, lined up over his cock, and she sinks down on him. 

She arches her spine, hair slapping against her skin with a sound like windchimes, and Will thoughtlessly reaches out to cup her breasts. He is surprised to find them as hard to the touch as Hannibal’s skin, with none of the supple give he’d expected. She sighs in pleasure when he flicks his thumb across her nipple and as she begins to rock herself back and forth on his cock, leans in to the exposed line of his throat.

The woman is rougher with him, biting down like an animal with struggling prey. Will feels his skin rip in long, deep gashes. Her nails, too, breaking the skin of his abdomen but he experiences it as heat, rather than pain. There’s too much happening, filled up with fat cock and rode hard by her tight cunt, smearing her juices all over him in her sloppy grind.

When the third vampire pulls again on his hair, Will goes without protest, parting his mouth for the cock that nudges his lips. The vampire hums his approval, rocks his hips lazily but unceasingly forward, until he’s bumping the back of Will’s palate on every thrust. He’s got a lovely cock, neither particularly long or wide, so Will doesn’t fear choking and he can enjoy the weight of him.

Compared to the rough treatment of the other two, he is almost gentle with Will, lifting his arm to press a kiss against the pulse in his wrist. His fangs graze the skin teasingly, all shivery pleasure, and part the skin in a quick, painless bite. With the two of them drinking from him, his orgasm builds fast. Will tries to focus on all the different _glorious_ sensation, but it’s no good, he’s torn in a dozen directions.

The woman breaks free of the bite to rise up, cupping her own breasts and pinching her nipples as her moans grow in volume. Will isn’t too caught up in his own pleasure to ignore hers and he reaches down to finger her clit, but she grabs his hand and holds tight at his wrist to keep him away. Her hair makes delicate chiming noises from the way she shakes when she cums, and that wet, vice-like grip, and the driving thrusts across his prostate milk his own orgasm from him.

In the aftershocks of his pleasure, he’s only peripherally aware of the male vampires still thrusting away, fucking his mouth and ass. Will’s head lulls to the side and his eyes meet Hannibal’s, who stands at a distance, face impassive, but his eyes--Will can see the warring lust and jealousy and satisfaction.

The man between his legs falters and groans, and fills Will up with his last jerky thrusts, and that sets off the last of them. He pulls out of Will’s mouth and strokes himself to completion. It lands with a splatter across Will’s cheek and mouth, and with one last sucking kiss, he releases Will’s wrist.

They’re finished with him, but the itch is still there under Will’s skin, making him squirm and moan when they withdraw from him, leaving him sticky and sore and unsated. His blood pours freely from where they’ve bitten him, and they waste no time in hauling him to his feet, all three of them carrying him to the basin, where they begin to loop the tethers through the rings of Will’s harness. 

When they draw the tethers tight he is left half-suspended over the basin. His centre of gravity is shifted, spine arched backward, legs spread open wide with his cock, already growing hard again, thrusting upward in the empty air. 

The blood trickles over his skin in thick rivulets. Down his outstretched arm to his elbow, from his the wound on his chest following the paths of the harness up his neck. From the deep, aching wound on his throat slicking over his chin and face, and downward from the scratches left on his belly, wrapping around his ribs and gathering in his back before dripping to the basin. Slowly but steadily pooling there.

Only the Tracer-kind vampires are allowed to drink directly from Will, besides Hannibal. The rest will feed on the blood collected in the basin. Now that the initial haze of pleasure has ebbed, Will can sense them watching again. Their hunger is palpable, not only for his blood, but to use his body in the same manner. Hannibal stands before them, arms outstretched to keep them at bay. The Tracer-kind finish securing Will in place and Hannibal fixes him with a long, searching look. Whatever he seeks, he must find, because he drops his arms. It’s as good as a verbal invitation to have at him.


	2. Chapter 2

They are mindless in their pursuit of pleasure, like a pack of wolves fighting over a choice piece of meat, tearing off their clothing, growling and shoving at one another to reach him first. There are two substantially bigger than the others, and Will thinks it will be one of them, but while they’re busy posturing, a smaller male ducks in. He wastes no time, smearing lube over his cock perfunctorily before pushing forward into Will’s hole.

Will can’t move either away from him or into him. He can’t do anything but take the desperate, humping thrusts. What the vampire lacks in size, he makes up for in enthusiasm, fucking Will fast. It’s the wrong angle to hit his prostate, but it’s still good, the stimulation of the rings of muscle around his hole, and his cock rubbing the guy’s stomach in time with his furious thrusts. When he darts forward to lick the blood on Will’s chest, his rhythm falters. 

Apparently it’s too much for him, and he cums just like that. He pulls free, cum slipping sloppily down Will’s crack and thighs. He doesn’t have any time to be disappointed because the two big ones have settled their dispute and the first immediately takes his place. Will groans in satisfaction when the vampire grabs his thighs in a bruising grip and takes him in one deep thrust.

His hands clench uselessly, held in position by the restraints, when Will wants to touch and grab. To twine his legs around the powerful thighs that fuck in and out of him. He draws back until only the very tip of him breaches Will’s hole, then shoves in again with a snap of his fangs. Will can practically taste that cock in the back of his throat each time the man seats himself, and he does it again and again, never faltering from that pace. He lets the pleasure build slow, banking higher.

He mouths over Will’s skin, pushing the boundaries with his fangs scraping stinging lines, but never drawing blood. Will’s on fire with it. The way the man touches him, big hands palming his ass and squeezing his cheeks together to make every thrust tight. How his fingers tease the sensitive stretch of skin behind Will’s balls.

Will is so close to cumming again he almost cries in frustration when the vampire starts groaning, loud, guttural sounds, utterly fucking filthy. He thrusts with each pulse and stays buried deep for a long moment, until another vampire grabs him by the shoulder and jerks him free.

His hole flutters, tightening and gaping, hungry for another cock, and he gets it as once. It slides in so easily, the way slickened by three cocks worth of cum, but it still feels huge. Will can imagine the delicate skin around his anus, pink from abuse and swollen, and the thought, perversely, only serves to turn him on that much more.

There are other vampires pressing close now. Rubbing their cocks against his body. One of them straddles his thigh, grinding her cunt against him, another fucks his cock into the crease made at the bend of his knee and the curve of his calf. 

It’s not just Will’s cock that’s sensitive. Every slide of their bodies against his is like a hand directly on his cock, driving him closer to the edge, a touch away from cumming. One of the vampires closes her mouth around his cock, sucking as hungrily as if it were his blood, and it tips him right over, hips jerking as much as they can in the restraints. 

“Fuck,” Will cries, high-pitched, almost a whine, and he can’t stop. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.” He shoves himself down on the cock inside him and into the mouth swallowing every pulse of cum until he’s drained, hanging loose from the tethers.

The vampire pulls out, limp, his own cum wrung from him by the contractions of Will’s body. Will waits for the next cock, but instead the woman who’d swallowed his cum drops down between his legs to lick across his hole. Will groans pitifully, a soft sound of protest. The sensation is too much so soon after orgasm, his hole feels sore and hot and swollen. She laughs and presses on, cool tongue lapping up the cum that leaks from him.

She keeps working him until his cock starts to fill with blood again--another side-effect of the drink Hannibal gave him, no doubt--and then she ties another leather strap around the base of his cock and under his balls, drawing it tight. She stands out of the way for another slick cock to fuck into him. 

The vampire wraps his arms around Will’s waist, their bodies slipping slickly together with blood and sweat and cum. Every thrust grinds his cock between their bellies and the friction is a sharp, shooting pain, but it doesn’t stop the steady stream of precum leaking from him. 

Then the woman pushes the male back and _climbs_ between them, foot braced on the edge of the basin to swing her leg over Will’s lips and straddles him. Her cunt drags back and forth over the head of his cock, sliding through her slippery folds, so very different from the heat of a human woman. 

When she sinks down on him, Will whimpers. He’d swear he could feel every shift of her muscles working around him, spikes of cold heat up and down his cock. She leans back against the vampire fucking his ass and the two of them move in tandem. Languid, rolling thrusts that make Will sway over the basin, blood ribboning through the air.

There are still over a dozen other vampires remaining, watching restlessly from the sidelines. The muscles in Will’s body seize up at the thought and the vampire fucking him growls. He picks up the pace, thrusts going shallow at the end when he starts to cum. Still he stands there, buried to the hilt, while the woman fucks herself on Will’s cock. 

Will can’t see them well from the angle at which he’s held, but the man’s hands roam over her body with a sort of familiarity that would seem to indicate a relationship between them. He sinks his hands to the join of her thighs and brings her off with his fingers. The others give them no time to gather themselves. She is lifted off him and the man dragged from between Will’s legs.

The remaining vampires crowd close to loosen the tethers. Will’s brow furrows in confusion; it’s too soon, he still hasn’t gotten what he needs. But they’re only turning him around, bending him over the basin where he can now see just how much blood he’s lost, but the steady streams are starting to slow as his blood grows thick.

Tethers pull Will’s feet open wide ass exposed and tilted upward from the harnesses on his wrists and back. Another cock enters him from behind, and oh, it’s deeper like this. Will hangs his head and squeezes his eyes shut tight. There are flashes of bright light against the inside of his eyelids. 

Somewhere along the way he loses track of how many times he’s been fucked. One after another, after another line up and shove into him. Will lets his eyes fall closed and gives himself to the overload of sensation. There’s a thin line between the agony of oversensitivity and the burning heat beneath his skin. He’s messy with cum and spit and lube running down his thighs, chilling in the air, and they keep coming, clawed hands digging into the curve of his ass, his thighs, and hips, the jut of his pelvic bone.

Will bites his lip to try to hold in the pained whimpers, but they make their way out anyway, punctuated by the sharp slaps of balls against his ass and the obscene squelching sound made by the cock fucking the cum out of him. Always crying out in protest when the cock inside him pulls free, achingly empty and needing to be filled.

No matter how much it burns, it’s still not enough. His hole feels raw from use, his cock bobbing heavily in the air, aching for release against the leather that prevents him from cumming. Some of them touch him, maddening strokes of their hands on his cock that make him writhe on their cocks. The pressure in his balls grows with every new load of cum dumped inside him, every satisfied groan of the men fucking him as they take their pleasure from his body. He needs _more._

At the other end, hands in his hair guiding him to suck the seemingly unending line of cocks and tongue the dripping cunts, shoved in his face. Will does his best to keep up with them, but he’s torn in so many different directions, he can only mouth distractedly at whatever is offered to him until his lips feel numb and his tongue is heavy, his jaw sore. They all taste musky and strangely sweet, their precum and juices smeared over his face and chin.

He’s vaguely aware of the sounds he makes, completely uninhibited. He couldn’t stop them if he tried at this point, and he doesn’t want to, but it’s almost shocking to hear himself like that. The loud cries that echo through the forest, fuck me, fuck me, please fuck me and the groans that sound like he’s dying, panting heavy and fast like a fucking animal in heat. His body is one long exposed nerve, plucked over and over, bruised and trembling and singing with sensation.

And then it stops.

It takes a minute for Will to realise, after the last cock fills him up and time stretches, waiting to be taken again. The effects of the whisky are slowly fading, not so much that he yet feels discomfort, but so that he can discern between the warmth of his own flesh and the cold of the bodies that lay over him, and their icy fluids in and on him. It serves as a counterpoint to the burning in his veins that still hasn’t been sated.

A familiar hand cups his cheek, brushing back his hair, stiff from the blood and sweat and cum. Will forces his eyes open, lashes thick with frosted tears. Hannibal kneels before him, face close enough for Will to see the fine spread of blood vessels fanning over his cheeks. There is tenderness in his gaze, as he swipes moisture from the corner of Will’s eye.

“My darling boy,” Hannibal says. “You’ve suffered their abuse beautifully, and still you remain unsatisfied.” The sharp point of his thumbnail pushes into the swell of Will’s bottom lip, torn from his efforts to remain silent and Will parts his mouth to flick his tongue against Hannibal’s skin. 

Hannibal leans in, his mouth brushing Will’s--not even a kiss, just the barest whisper of contact. “Let me take care of you.”

“Please,” Will moans, sagging in relief.

Hannibal unfastens the tethers holding his arms so that Will can collapse over the basin, hands closed around the rim to keep from falling in the blood that shines deep crimson beneath him. Hannibal’s touch is frustratingly light when he traces the bite left by the Tracer-kind on Will’s throat, now dried up. He drags the tips of his nails over Will’s shoulder and down the curve of his spine as he comes to stand behind him.

Will feels the shift of fabric as Hannibal removes his skirt and leggings, each movement a tease. Then Hannibal’s hands are on him, running firmly up the backs of his thighs to cup his ass, every movement slow and purposeful and maddening. Lube dribbles down his crack, followed by Hannibal’s fingers tracing his opening. His thumb hooks on the edge of Will’s hole and pulls him open wider. Will whines in answer, spine twisting uselessly. 

Every touch is exquisite agony when Hannibal’s cock replaces his thumb and his hips flex in a steady glide. One hand wraps around Will’s waist, Hannibal’s palm spread low over Will’s belly, through flakes of dried blood. Will is so stuffed with cum and Hannibal’s in him so deep, he fancies that Hannibal might be able to feel it against his hand, how full Will is, glutted on their cocks.

Hannibal lets him adjust to the feel. He rubs back and forth across Will’s belly, not so much thrusting into Will as rocking their joined bodies together languorously, always the considerate lover. Will wants to snap at him, wants to growl that it isn’t what he wants right now. But then Hannibal begins to move, and Will’s breath leaves him in a sharp gasp.

Gone is all of Hannibal’s habitual tenderness. He fucks into Will with jarring thrusts, driving Will right off his feet so that the only thing holding him down are the tethers around his ankles. Will’s toes curl at the force of it, thick thighs flexing against his, Hannibal’s pelvis grinding into the meat of Will’s ass on every thrust.

“Oh god,” Will cries, hands clasping tight to the edge of the basin. “Oh fuck, Hannibal, please, yes, like that.”

Hannibal growls, a purely animal sound to match the way he handles Will now. The bite of his nails scoring tender skin, the relentless drive of Hannibal’s cock, rock hard and frigid in the heat of Will’s body. So cold it burns and Will hisses, head tossed back. Hannibal snatches a fistful of his hair and drags Will upright by it. He noses the deep gouges of Will’s neck and the solid wall of his chest rumbles against Will’s back.

Will reaches up to lay his hand over Hannibal’s where it holds them firmly together, so that every thrust drives Hannibal’s cock as deep as he can be. Their fingers tangle and Will drops his head back against Hannibal’s shoulder. “Yours,” he says, his other hand winding behind to loop behind Hannibal’s neck. He palms the silky smooth hair like spun glass at the back of Hannibal’s neck, and urges him closer. 

The invitation is clear, and Hannibal takes it, biting down where the Tracer-kind left her mark. His fangs tear the skin open anew, spilling fresh blood. Hannibal has tapped into the desperate, needy longing in Will’s veins, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt. All those previous times when he’d been left wanting culminating in this bone-deep bliss.

Hannibal brings their joined hands down to tug the leather strip that binds his cock and balls. His palms Will’s balls, heavy and tight, pulls delicately at the papery-thin skin, and then slips his touch lower to feel the place where his cock enters Will with shattering thrusts. 

Will’s hole clutches tight when Hannibal’s middle finger pushes in with his cock on the next thrust, stretching him that much wider. Something almost like panic gathers in Will’s chest, until he can’t breathe around it. “Oh god, I can’t--” 

Hannibal bends his finger and presses firmly against Will’s prostate, and all that tension, all the pressure in his chest and balls and cock release. He wails as he cums so hard his vision goes black. Hannibal’s fingers curve around Will’s twitching cock, fisting him tight and milking every last drop from him, and it seems as though it will never stop. He’s already cum twice, but it’s so much stronger, racking spasms through him.

All through it, Hannibal keeps fucking him, cleaving him open, and when Will is spent, slumped half over Hannibal’s arm, only then does Hannibal give over to his own pleasure. Will relishes the feel of every single pulse of Hannibal’s cock inside, floating somewhere between wakefulness and unconsciousness. 

Now that the fire has been sated, all the aches and pains are that much more pronounced, but so too are the aftershocks of pleasure that skip along his skin and throb deep in his muscles. The cold and the exhaustion sweep over him, and Will is thankful for Hannibal’s strong arms hauling him close. He is wrapped in the fur cloak and hefted into Hannibal’s arms.

Will remains awake long enough to watch the vampires crowding around the basin. His cum streaks the glistening surface of the blood, a vivid pearly white. They’re waiting on Hannibal’s word, practically frothing at the mouth for it. 

A stray thought occurs to him, and he wonders if they’ll be different the next time he sees them. If his blood will restore them, or if they’re remain these wild things. At least he hopes they won’t be too tame to do this all again, the next time they perform the ritual. It’s his last thought, before his eyes drift close and he passes out, safe in Hannibal’s hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That might be the dirtiest thing I've ever written, but it was a hell of a lot of fun. There might be a little third part at some point in the future, with aftercare, but no promises. I've got a lot on my plate!


End file.
